


Mutually Assured Destruction

by Romiress



Series: The Stack - Oneshots in Need of Expansion [3]
Category: Deathstroke the Terminator (Comics), Superman (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Superheroes, Clark is still Kryptonian, Gen, Kidnapping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:21:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26809540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Romiress/pseuds/Romiress
Summary: All Slade Wilson wants to do is kidnap a Daily Planet employee and get on with his job.All Clark wants to do is finish his coffee.
Relationships: Clark Kent & Slade Wilson
Series: The Stack - Oneshots in Need of Expansion [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1955284
Comments: 14
Kudos: 99





	Mutually Assured Destruction

Someone has poisoned his drink.

It's a weird realization to have while sitting at his desk, right in the middle of work. He's got maybe a half hour to lunch and now he's been _poisoned_ and everything about that is so weird he's rendered momentarily stumped.

He takes another sip and considers. He's always had a great sense of taste—technically all his senses are vastly better than the average human, but everyone always forgets taste is even a _thing_ —and most of the time it's been nothing more than a bother. Tasting things too strongly is irritating _at best,_ and almost unlivable at worst. He's always struggled with spicy foods, tasting the individual components too strongly.

Whatever is in his drink is bitter, and he mulls over it as he takes another sip. Not a poison, he decides. Who would want to poison him? And _at his office?_ He considers. Someone dropped the cup off at his desk while he was out, which wasn't an unusual state of affairs. Really, that was business as usual at the Daily Planet, where everyone knew everyone else's order. But it was also a vulnerability, because apparently someone with an agenda had added something to his drink.

Definitely not poison. Another sip as he does a casual search for what he's tasting—a salty, almost ocean-like tang that he doubts anyone else would be able to taste.

Mercifully, he finds his answer quickly: someone's drugged him with a sedative. He does a bit more searching to figure out how long he has, and decides that ten minutes sounds about right. He's been drugged, he'll probably fall unconscious, and then...

Well, Clark has no idea. Whoever drugged him would have to be _in the building_ to take advantage of his drugged state, and there's no way they still are, right?

He resists the urge to glance around, and instead drains his coffee. His tongue feels numb in his mouth, but the effect passes quickly, and there are no other side effects as he finishes his current article. The moment it's done—right around the six minute mark—he logs out of his computer, nods to Jimmy, and then heads to the bathroom.

Clark feels _extremely_ silly feigning a slip into unconsciousness. Ma always said he was a poor actor, and he's never felt so bad at acting as he does right then.

It doesn't matter. He's on the floor, groaning softly when someone lets themselves in. He sees shoes—well worn work shoes—and then the grey plastic of the janitor's cart.

There's _no way_ Matt's the one behind it. Absolutely no way. He fights the urge to peak as his would-be kidnapper scoops him off the floor, handling him easily as he slides Clark into the bottom of the cart, hiding him behind thick plastic.

It's the first sign (beyond the fact that he's being kidnapped at all) that there's more to it, because Clark is _not_ a small man, and yet his kidnapper shows no real sign of exertion as he picks Clark up.

Realistically, Clark should probably make a noise and draw someone's attention, but once he's in the cart he can shift his head, out of sight, and flick to x-ray. What it reveals isn't good: the man's armed, with multiple weapons of various types, positions, and firepower. The plan to draw attention goes out the window: the man's going to go out shooting if he's caught.

The plan shifts as he's transported into an elevator, heading down to the parking garage. He's just going to have to go along with it and figure out what the man wants. _Hopefully_ he can go through the whole rest of the... well, the _kidnapping_ without showing his hand.

He tries to keep the importance of keeping himself a secret in mind as he's manhandled into the back seat of a car. His wrists and ankles are zip-tied together, and then his kidnapper vanishes from sight briefly. When he returns, the jacket he was wearing is gone, as is most of the janitorial disguise. Instead, he's wearing what looks to Clark like old military gear, including a mask that covers his entire face, hiding his identity.

Not like that would stop _Clark,_ but it's the principle of the thing: the man means business. He's a professional.

Not a good sign.

Clark is transported to, of all the cliche options, an empty warehouse down near the waterfront. He's unloaded from the car, literally _thrown over his kidnappers shoulder,_ and carrier effortlessly inside.

The alarm bells are sounding in Clark's head. An ordinary human couldn't manage that. The only person he knows who could just throw a fully grown adult man around like that is _him._

Is the first alien he's met in his life _kidnapping him?_

Only that doesn't make sense, or at least it doesn't make any sense to assume his kidnapper knows what he is. If he was, he wouldn't bother tying Clark to a chair. He could escape if he so much as sneezes too hard.

Clark's just wondering how long he's going to have to pretend to be unconscious when his kidnapper grabs his hair, tilting his head back and shoving something under his nose. The smell is sharp—cleaning products if he's being charitable, and cat piss if he's not—and Clark gives it a few seconds before letting his eyes flutter open. The kidnapper's hand is still in his hair, which is _not_ a pleasant feeling. It makes Clark feel extremely tense, staring up at the man before him.

He ends up with a phone in his face for his trouble as his kidnapper snaps pictures. That's a good sign, probably. Ransom? Intimidation? Either way, his being _alive_ is apparently important.

"Now you sit tight and behave yourself and you'll be back in whatever shitty little apartment you call home in no time." The kidnapper seems _extremely_ casual about what he's doing, but his words give Clark another reason to relax: if his kidnapper doesn't even know where he lives, that means he's not the target. Maybe _anyone_ from the planet was. Maybe he was just a lucky victim of opportunity.

Better him then anyone else at work.

The next hour are, frankly, excruciating. His kidnapper makes a number of calls—Clark can hear them all perfectly, but there's at least some context missing—as he attempts to get Perry to drop a story discreetly.

Perry doesn't know the _meaning_ of the word discreetly. Sure, lives are on the line (or at least he thinks Clark's is), but if whatever they've got is big enough to hire someone to kidnap an employee over...

It's big. There's a senator involved, but neither side mentions what the actual story is, to Clark's frustration.

"I don't really think you're taking this seriously, Mr. White," his kidnapper says. "I'm starting to think I'm going to need to make an example of your poor employee, and then take a second and start negotiations over."

His kidnapper draws a gun, and starts methodically checking it over to make sure it's in full working order as he talks. Nervous habit, maybe?

"You harm one hair on Kent's head and I'm going to publish!" Perry's agitated, literally yelling into the phone, and it occurs to Clark that the police are probably there. There's probably going to be an investigation.

Things could get very bad for him very quickly if he isn't _very_ careful.

"For all your bluster, you're not very good at this, are you?" His kidnapper says. He's not pacing, and Clark can't remember if that's a good or a bad thing. "If you go full _we don't negotiate with terrorists_ on me, then I don't have a reason to keep Mr. Kent around. I'll just get rid of him, dump the body somewhere, and move to plan B. I don't think I need to spell out that you won't be a fan of that plan."

Clark gawks. He's going to just _kill him?_ Just like that? He doesn't even know how he's going to deal with that.

"Jesus, don't kill him—" Perry's losing his cool, cracking under the pressure.

"You said you were going to publish if I harmed one hair on his head, and I've already done that, so why aren't you publishing? I think an ear is tacky, but we'll see how Mr. Kent is feeling, take a piece off, and you can look forward to it this afternoon. We'll talk after that."

"Don't—"

The kidnapper hangs up, and Clark's stomach sinks. He isn't afraid for himself—even if the kidnapper _is_ really strong, he's never encountered anything that can actually hurt him—but he is afraid for what it might mean. How's he going to get out of it without anyone figuring out? How's he supposed to get away in a believable manner?

Clark doesn't even get a chance to find out. His kidnapper simply raises his gun and shoots Clark in the leg without any preamble.

Or he tries.

The bullet hits Clark's leg and bounces, and by that point Clark realizes there's no point in pretending and longer. He snaps the zip ties on his wrists and ankles like they're made of paper, surging up at the other man.

His kidnapper is no slouch. Rather than just standing there, baffled, he reels backwards, firing off two more shots that don't do anything before Clark manages to grab the end of the gun, pulling it down and ruining his attacker's grip on the gun. The moment he lets go, Clark reaches out, grabbing his attacker by the arms and lifting him up.

The fight seems to pause. Clark's standing, just _lifting_ his attacker, and his attacker is (even with the mask hiding his expression), very clearly staring down at him. He's not struggling. He's just staring, and Clark's staring back.

"...Well, we seem to find ourselves at a stalemate," his kidnapper says rather matter of factly, and Clark snorts.

"Doesn't seem that way to me. I have you pinned, and you're not getting away."

"Then kill me and get it over with."

It takes a second for Clark to realize that his bluff is being called, and he scowls up at the man, lifting him a little bit higher.

"That's what I thought," he replies, not seeming terribly bothered by being lifted like a doll. "If you were going to rip me in half, you'd have done it already, rather than holding me up and threatening me like this. So why don't you put me down, and we'll figure out a solution that works for both of us."

After a moment, Clark does put him down. There's no point in dangling him, because Clark can absolutely catch him again either way. Plus, he's right: they're in a situation of mutually assured destruction.

No, even that isn't right: his kidnapper has the upper hand over him, because the consequences for Clark's secret getting out are so much higher than anything that could happen to the man before him.

His kidnapper adjusts his gear around where Clark's grabbed him, making sure it isn't damaged, and then makes a point of cracking his neck. It's probably intended to show off how relaxed he is, but Clark gets the impression it's more stalling for time then anything else.

"So... how are we doing this?" Clark makes himself ask. His mouth feels dry, and he has absolutely no ideas to offer. He's never been in a situation even remotely like this, and he's not sure how to shimmy his way out of it.

"Shut up, I'm thinking."

Clark bristles, but makes himself stay quiet. He isn't the expert, and his life is very much in the hands of the man in front of him. Not _completely,_ but a significant portion of it. Unless Clark wants to take matters into his own hands and claim he escaped...

He pushes the idea away. He's disgusted he even thought of it, his stomach turning. No matter how things play out, that isn't even an option.

"Best case scenario, your boss does what he said he was going to and pulls the trigger," his kidnapper finally says. Clark's appalled, because him getting killed (or in this case, "killed") isn't his idea of a _best case._ Apparently he doesn't do as good a job hiding his alarm as he tries, because the man in front of him lets out a snort. "Don't give me that look. If he publishes, you go free."

"Wait, what?" Clark doesn't understand. Him going free doesn't make any _sense._ If Perry publishes, Clark should have a bullet in his brain.

"Please, I'm a _professional._ You think I'd have come up with a plan as stupid as _kidnapping a reporter to threaten the editor into not publishing?_ I was hired to kidnap you, play the big bad, and then maybe rough you up a bit. The guy who hired me wasn't willing to shell out the extra money to put murder on the table, apparently."

"I'm sorry, this was a _budget_ kidnapping?" Clark feels like he should be insulted. In fact, he decides after a moment that he _is_ insulted.

"Nothing budget about me. I don't come cheap, and murder's an extra charge that your friend wasn't willing to pony up. Probably didn't want to risk getting implicated in it, after all. Murder's a lot more serious than just _kidnapping."_

Clark is _not_ impressed.

"So Perry goes public, and you... drop me off back at work like none of this even happened?"

"That was how it was going to go _before_ I found out you can bounce bullets off your skin like a quarter off a stripper's ass."

Clark doesn't even _try_ to hide his scandalized look. He's less bothered by whatever blackmail he's about to be subjected to then... well, that absolutely _awful_ metaphor.

"It's just a thing I can do," Clark points out. "It isn't something I can share with other people, it's not something that matters to anyone but myself. Whatever you're trying to get out of this... you won't get it."

"I've already gotten something much better. I know there's a person with abilities well beyond what a human should be capable of. I know where you work. I know you name. I can easily find out everything about you."

He sounds like he's smiling as he talks, even if his face is hidden behind the mask, and Clark realizes that isn't an issue for him, letting his vision flicker briefly. Beneath the mask, the man _is_ smiling, a smirk that's undeniably infuriating even though Clark was the one to specifically look for it.

He's also, to Clark's surprise, nothing like he expected. He looks to be in his late 30s, in his physical prime, and the only sign of how rough a career he must have is the fact that he's missing one eye, the socket empty and hidden, Clark thinks, behind an eye patch.

"What are you, anyway?" The man asks, folding his arms across his chest. "If you tell me you're a vampire, I'm going to call bullshit."

"I'd rather know what _you_ are," Clark fires back. Sure, what he is... well, that's a mystery to everyone, but the man across from him...

It's confusing, and Clark doesn't know what his feeling are doing. He should be alarmed by what's happening. He should be disgusted that he's dealing with a man who kidnaps—and apparently _kills_ —for money.

Instead he feels a constantly growing feeling of something he can't quite place, an emotion that is almost _relief._

He is not alone.

Whether or not the man in front of him is the exact same thing that Clark is remains immaterial. What matters if that he's something _not human._ The first non-human that Clark's ever met.

"Government experiment gone either terribly wrong or terribly right, depending on which side of my gun you're on." He cocks his head, looking at Clark expectantly, and Clark feels suddenly put on the spot.

"...Alien. Probably."

 _"Probably?_ How can you not know if you're an alien or not?"

"My parents found me as a kid. I didn't exactly come with a manual."

Clark pauses, looking him over, and then clears his throat.

"You can take off the mask, you know."

"And why would I do that?"

Clark doesn't hesitate, for once. His answer's already prepared, waiting on the tip of his tongue.

"I can see through it anyway, but it just makes you look funny. You're the first person I've met who wasn't human."

The man bristles, but after a moment does take off his helmet anyway. His hair, Clark realizes, is pure white, rather than the usual grey-white of old age.

"I am human, for the record. Just a human who was tampered—"

His phone goes off, and he holds up a hand to silence Clark as he picks it up. Disappointingly, he doesn't start talking, instead texting whoever is contacting him. Maybe he thinks Clark will say something, which isn't an entirely unfair assumption for him to make.

"There we go," he says after a moment. "I'm supposed to 'do what I want' with you. That means he's hoping I'll kill you for free, but he's not willing to pay for it."

"So I'm free to go?" It seems... easy. Easier than it should. He's waiting for some kind of gotcha, a trap he couldn't see coming.

"You're free to be _dropped off bound and gagged,"_ his kidnapper counters, scowling in Clark's direction. "I have my professional integrity to uphold. The man got what he paid for, even if this entire plan was idiotic."

"And who's saying I'm willing to let you tie me up again?" Clark asks, raising an eyebrow. From what he can tell, he's the stronger of the two: simply because if he _wasn't..._ Well, his kidnapper seems like he'd have pushed it otherwise. The fact that he's _not_ trying anything feels telling.

Or maybe he just doesn't think it's worth the trouble to try and fight Clark right then. Maybe he wants to wait until he's had time to look more into Clark, to get all the information he needs.

Actually, it's probably that.

"Again, I'm the one who has the upper hand here. You're not willing to kill me, but I _am_ willing to out you if it comes to that. So here's how things are going to go: You're going to let me tie you up, you're going to pretend to be an ordinary human. You're going to say you didn't see anything beyond the suit, didn't get anything interesting from me, and I said that the person paying me didn't pay me enough to kill you if the information was already released. Done."

"And you're going to drop me off at work."

"In front of work. On the ground."

Clark scowls at him. His kidnapper scowls right back. There's not much else to do, so Clark takes a deep breath, pulls himself together, and tries to be the adult in the situation.

"Could I at least get your number?"

The man in front of him snorts, a downright infuriating smirk on his face.

"If you want my number, you're going to have to take me on a date first."

Clark's face burns at the realization of what he's just asked. He's pretty sure his _ears_ are red by that point.

"Not like _that,"_ he protests desperately. "I want to be able to contact you. You're the first—"

"The first non-human you've met, I get it. I'm a mercenary. I don't just give out my contact information to strangers."

"Then how am I supposed to contact you—"

 _"You_ don't call me. _I_ call you. You go about your ordinary life and do your ordinary things, and I'll come find _you."_

"Whe—"

"When I'm ready."

Clark glares at him, and is met with a glare right back. The man in front of him gestures for him to hold out his wrists, and Clark bristles for a moment before complying.

"Get it over with, then. I'd like to get back to my _ordinary life_ and my _ordinary job."_

Maybe it's petty (okay, it's definitely petty), but he doesn't make it easy as the mystery man pulls his mask back on, binding Clark's wrists before gagging him. Clark could escape at any time, and they both know that, but Clark _swears_ that the bindings are intentionally more uncomfortable than they were before.

Probably on purpose, considering the man he's dealing with.

"Alright, ET. Lets get moving."

The ride back to the planet is frustrating and largely silent, but as they pull up just in front of the building—Clark can see police cars parked just around the corner—his kidnapper has to make things even _more_ frustrating. He looks Clark over, huffs, and then reaches forward, combing his fingers through Clark's hair and, for no apparent reason, mussing his hair.

"You look too spotless," he complains. "You don't even look like you were kidnapped. Is that some kind of bullshit power of yours? The only sign you've even been kidnapped is this." He reaches down, tapping the tear in Clark's pants where the bullet nearly took out Clark's knee.

Clark glares at him, and earns a laugh in response.

"Alright, lets get this show on the road."

Getting dumped onto the sidewalk in front of his work isn't Clark's idea of a good time, but it's better than things _could_ have turned out. If someone else had been kidnapped, things probably wouldn't have gone so well.

And even if he _is_ going to have to spend the next few hours with everyone stressing over him, it's hard not to feel a tiny bit relieved.

After all, for the first time in his life, Clark knows that he's not alone.

**Author's Note:**

> Something I will (probably) come back to, because I think this is a hilarious first meeting.


End file.
